


shouted from rooftops, whispered in pillows

by stellahibernis



Series: an approximation of domesticity [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, bucky is the grumpiest caretaker, steve is self-aware but unrepentant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s mid-morning when they stumble inside and knock themselves into the door frame, mostly because the opening isn’t really wide enough for the two of them to go through at the same time. There isn’t even need for them to do so, since Steve could walk perfectly well on his own despite the three (or maybe four) broken ribs and the kneecap that probably isn’t quite where it should be. Nothing the serum won’t fix in a day or three. Bucky didn’t listen to him though, not that Steve really expected him to, and supported Steve back to their apartment from the street.</i>
</p>
<p>Some unavoidable post-mission care taking, featuring grumpy Bucky and Steve who finds some things entirely too hilarious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shouted from rooftops, whispered in pillows

**Author's Note:**

> Should work fine stand-alone, but it is sort of a counterpoint to [not one single further sorrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6373393).

Steve isn’t actually sure whether Bucky notices the change or not. It’s not an overnight thing, more of gradual one, but it happens all the same. For Steve it’s glaringly obvious, mostly because it’s a thrill unlike anything else for him when Bucky says the words, tells Steve he loves him.

By now Steve knows fairly well how Bucky’s head works. Mostly it helps him with how things are now, but having gained a bit more perspective over the years he’s also been able to figure out a lot of things about Bucky from before the train and the fall. Back then he’d seen a lot less and hadn’t had enough experience to read his friend even if he’d known Bucky better than anyone. Bucky had managed to hide some things, and others Steve just couldn’t figure out even if they were there for him to see. On some nights when Steve can’t sleep he still thinks back a little ruefully, wishing he’d been more perceptive. He doesn’t know if it would have changed anything. It might not have helped in any way, but he still wishes, sometimes. In the light of day he usually ends up thinking that at least it’s better late than never, and he’s grateful every day that it didn’t turn out to be too late for them. He’s grateful for the second chance they got, and he intends to take full advantage of it.

Now, guided by experience, he knows that Bucky has been saying he loves Steve for most of his life, even if for a longest time Steve didn’t realize it. For them, words in general hold a different kind of significance. Bucky cares more about the meaning instead of the specific words used, so much so that he hadn’t even known he hadn’t actually said he loved Steve, hadn’t used those particular words, until Steve pointed it out. Steve has always been much more literal, preferring to try and find the exact words, and sometimes it causes difficulty for him. Sometimes with Bucky he has been, and still is, so happy that he doesn’t really know words that feel large enough to describe it, not in any of the languages he speaks. He’s always found it rather ironic that he becomes tongue tied most often with people he cares the most about.

Back in the day Steve hadn’t noticed the difference between them, but he figured it out fairly swiftly when Bucky moved in with him again after almost eighty years. He started to recognize the times when Bucky meant  _ I love you _ even if the actual words were something else.  _ Watch out for your back. I made coffee. I don’t want to get up yet. _ When Steve made the connection he spent the day in a half daze in his studio, for it all to unravel into him pushing Bucky onto the floor and riding him for more than an hour when he came to find Steve. Their dinner had gotten cold in the meantime, but neither one of them had cared.

It had been enough for him, just knowing, and Steve hadn’t really expected Bucky to say the actual words. He hadn’t needed them. And yet, when Bucky did say them, in a roundabout way half accidentally, but still said them, it stole Steve’s breath away. Bucky’s love, even when Steve had known that it was – and is, and will be – his, suddenly became all the more real, all the more solid. That feeling hasn’t dissipated, and Steve is starting to believe it won’t either.

After that first time Bucky started to say the words fairly regularly, no doubt because he too understood how the two of them were different when it came to things like that. When he earlier might have said something else, something inconsequential, he just straight up told Steve he loved him. Every time Bucky said the words there was a thrill that went right through Steve’s body. He still hasn’t found out whether that will stop some day.

Now, as if with tipping scales, it all has gone towards the other direction. Bucky has taken to saying  _ I love you, _ when he means something else, usually something along the lines of  _ be careful. _ A part of Steve thinks it should make the words mean less to him the more common they become, but it doesn’t. There’s still the thrill, same as always, even if he recognizes the underlying meaning. He also knows that even if there is another meaning, the words are still true. Bucky doesn’t just say them. That’s what matters.

Steve has to admit that sometimes he finds it hilarious, especially when Bucky is basically scolding him by saying  _ I love you. _ He tries not to laugh since he’s self-aware enough that Bucky usually has at least a semi-legitimate reason for being miffed, and laughing at that isn’t an appropriate reaction. Steve tries not to appear as if he’s dismissing Bucky’s feelings, because he isn’t. He’s still careful, even now that Bucky’s very secure in himself again and would get what he means. Steve just doesn’t want to risk a misunderstanding, not even a little bit if he can avoid it. Sometimes, admittedly, he fails.

It’s mid-morning when they stumble inside and knock themselves into the door frame, mostly because the opening isn’t really wide enough for the two of them to go through at the same time. There isn’t even need for them to do so, since Steve could walk perfectly well on his own despite the three (or maybe four) broken ribs and the kneecap that probably isn’t quite where it should be. Nothing the serum won’t fix in a day or three. Bucky didn’t listen to him though, not that Steve really expected him to, and supported Steve back to their apartment from the street where Nat dropped them from the quinjet. 

Bucky makes Steve sit in the chair closest to the door while he goes to put their weapons away, and Steve lets the feeling of being home wash over him. It’s quiet, filled with all the familiar smells, including a hint of Steve’s paints and gun oil, and the lights are off even if the day is mostly gray and dark. There’s a thunderstorm brewing, angry blue clouds rising over the city, but he isn’t going to care unless it turns out to be a hurricane strong enough to blow the roof off their heads. He’s home, Bucky’s home, and the robots shaped like dinosaurs and mad scientists have been contained after a battle that lasted for three days straight, during which they managed to limit casualties and even avoid most of the property damage. All well done, he thinks.

Steve’s eyes are closed when Bucky comes back, he’s drifting only to be roused by Bucky’s gentle hands at either side of Steve’s head when he peers into Steve’s eyes. There is a slight pout to Bucky’s lower lip, and Steve suspects he’s about to get a lecture, despite the fact that he can barely stay awake. Maybe he can distract Bucky somehow.

Bucky helps Steve back to his feet, and steadies him when the world lurches. Steve has to firmly remind the nausea that it’s not welcome before he can walk to bathroom. There are a few candles lit on the counter, and the lights are off.

“You know, I appreciate the romantic gesture, but I’m not sure this’ll end where you want it to,” Steve grins when Bucky helps him out of his uniform.

“Jerk, see if I’ll be so considerate of your head injury next time. I know you’re sensitive to lights right now,” Bucky grumbles.

Steve doesn’t say anything at that, just rests his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder, and breathes in the familiar scent under all the grime and smoke and gunpowder. It’s funny how all those smells that used to mean trouble are almost comforting now. Sometimes anyway, in the right context. Bucky leans his head on Steve’s for a while before resuming stripping them both.

“Besides, what I want is both of us clean and you in bed with an ice pack, so.”

“As long as you come too you can have whatever you want, Buck,” Steve says and steps into the shower.

The hot water is heaven on his stiff muscles, and Steve doesn’t really want to leave even when Bucky has managed wash them both, and standing is starting to feel a bit laborious, the broken ribs hurting with every breath. He leans a bit more into Bucky, and enjoys the feeling of strong arms around him, holding him up. It is only then that he notices that there’s still a hint of red in the water, and true enough, there is a wound that’s still bleeding a bit on Bucky’s leg.

“That needs stitches, you shouldn’t ignore your injuries like that,” Steve says, and the reply he gets is probably entirely deserved.

“Oh look, it’s the resident hypocrite. But I’ll get to that right after, if only to make you stop complaining.” 

Bucky does stitch up the wound, but only after he’s dried Steve up, wrapped his ribs and made him get into bed with ice packs against his side and on his knee. Steve doesn’t argue; he knows that if he does the only thing it achieves is delay, and he doesn’t suggest helping Bucky either when Bucky looks at him in a sharp way that is more about worry than anger. Besides, he is tired. He shifts against the pillows where he’s propped half sitting up, as comfortable as he can get with all his injuries. Almost. 

He listens to Bucky move about the apartment after he’s done with the suturing; the footsteps going to the kitchen, sounds of the fridge opening and closing, liquid pouring, and the blender. When Bucky comes back he’s got a bandage around his leg and four big glasses, two of water, two of some kind of smoothie, undoubtedly full of everything healthy and nutritious. Steve can’t help crinkling his nose, since he prefers to eat real food, and the smoothies don’t quite feel like it, even when made at home with fresh ingredients.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, handing him the glass with the straw so he doesn’t need to sit up, “drink it anyway, you need the energy and there’s no way you’d actually eat right now.”

Steve does empty the glass, content now that Bucky has settled next to him, their shoulders leaning on each other and Bucky’s left hand resting on Steve’s thigh. The lights are still low, and Steve is halfway falling asleep again, when Bucky leans closer and presses his lips on Steve’s shoulder. 

“You take too many risks when fighting,” Bucky murmurs against him, his breath warm through the thin cotton of Steve’s shirt. “You don’t need to do that, not when you have backup you can rely on.”

It’s not like Bucky is even wrong, but admitting these things has never really been what they do. Instead Steve just says, “Look who’s the hypocrite now. I’m not the one that tends to disappear to take out HYDRA cells all by myself.”

Steve can feel Bucky huff and he almost thinks it’s the end of that particular argument. After all, it’s not the first time they’ve had a variation of it, nor is it likely to be the last. Bucky isn’t done though. He  props his chin on Steve’s shoulder and slides his arm over Steve’s abdomen.

“You’re just, can you —” Bucky starts but doesn’t seem to find words, and ends up with a sort of helpless, “I love you.”

A laughter bubbles from inside Steve, even if it’s not at all appropriate, since this is Bucky in the kind of bout of concern he sometimes gets. It’s just that the tone of the voice is familiar, something Steve has heard time and time again, ever since they were children. 

The words used to be different.  _ Why did you get into that fight? What am I going to do with you? Should have known you’d take this new body as a license to pick even bigger fights. _ The sentiment is still the same, and Steve even feels sorry, a little bit. It’s not that he wants Bucky to worry. It’s just that this is the only way he knows how to live his life, and Bucky is just the same as him, really. And he in turn worries over Bucky, so it’s a case of pot and kettle, which Nat seems to find entirely too amusing.

Steve tries to stifle his giggles, but he isn’t very successful at it. Even if he can hear the echo of those worried words, Bucky is still saying he loves Steve, and meaning it too, because that’s really what the worry is and always has been about. The contrast of the words and the grumbling worry is too much for Steve, and Bucky’s obviously increasing irritation does nothing to help him.

“Shut up, you asshole, it’s not funny. I’ll push you off the bed,” Bucky mutters.

“No you won’t,” Steve manages to gasp. “You wouldn’t want to aggravate my injuries.” He’s set off again when Bucky looks truly aghast, and then as a peace offering manages to say, “I love you too.”

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, and then begins to laugh himself, the crossness clearly forgotten. He shifts and straddles Steve’s hips, careful of the injured knee, and kisses Steve, deep and firm, opening his mouth and slipping his tongue in. Steve slides his hands under Bucky’s shirt, touching as much of the skin he can, and otherwise just lets Bucky kiss him, kisses Bucky right back. 

It lasts for a while, until Steve shifts in a wrong way, hisses at the twinge in his ribs, and Bucky pulls away a bit and frames Steve’s face with his hands. His hair is falling around his face in half dried strands, his lips are red with kissing and the meaning of the look in his eyes no longer an uncertainty for Steve. Once again, Steve can’t believe that he’s lucky enough to have this, even if it has come at the cost of pain for both of them, the cost that they are still paying. There are moments when it’s hard to believe even all the good times are worth it, but those days are getting less and less frequent for both of them. This is one of the good days, despite all.

“You are an overconfident, over-sized punk,” Bucky growls. “We are going to wait until you won’t want to double over when I poke you and then I’m going to fuck you hard enough and long enough that you can’t talk.”

Steve doesn’t bother trying to check his grin. “If that’s supposed to be some kind of incentive for me to change, you’re really missing the mark here.” He pulls Bucky closer for another kiss. “I’ll hold you to that. Tomorrow.”

“More like the day after, the way you are wincing.”

“Okay, now that sounds like a punishment,” Steve says, mock affronted, and this time it’s Bucky who dissolves into laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr](http://stellahibernis.tumblr.com/).


End file.
